What shall we say when our lord cometh?
What shall we read in the rising moon?
What shall we do in the day of judgement?
Our cries rise like the wail of a loon.
How shall we weep when the buttress is broken
The wind in the heart striking chill to the heart?
What shall we do when the building lies shattered
the ribs of thought lying scattered apart ?
What shall we do when the masonry crumbles
The light of the moon encasing the stone,
What can we say when the great bat is flying
our naked souls lie weeping alone ?
What is the worth of the days of our building
The days when we learnt of the sages of old?
The nights of our struggle, the agony tearing
the searching for peace in the place of the bold
How can we sing when the sharp blade is hanging?
Scabbard its length and hide it from sight.
How can we sing when with clarity shining
the sun grows dark with the death of the light
What shall we see when the cold moon's arisen?
What can we read in the ice of her heart?
The dew on the roses is shining and frozen.
dead white beauty, mathematical art
What can we say to the boy with the candles
The acolyte seeking the ear of his lord?
How shall we weep as we hear his voice praying
for the shattered bowl and the silver cord.
In his sombre chapel the wax stands burning
The beautiful youth is turned to stone
The golden image seeks salutation
Incense coils from a small bronze urn.
What shall we see when the lord is arisen?
What shall we read in tower and spire?
When the lord of death strolls in the meadows
the wind from the grave our lungs require.
What shall we see when my lord is arisen
coming forth softly out of the grave ?
the moon-cold landscape hardening heaven
and the acolytes face that none can save